


A Team of Heroes Walks into a Bar

by MaeJacrezz007



Series: Superpoised [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Original Work, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (But probaly not), Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Captain america is old, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Like just after, Natasha is paranoid, Not the oldest, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel), Thor is off-world, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12513060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaeJacrezz007/pseuds/MaeJacrezz007
Summary: After the Battle of New York, Cap takes the team drinking. A place he fondly remembers from before the war. Natasha isn't sure she would describe her feelings to the place as 'fond'.





	A Team of Heroes Walks into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own any recognizable characters. Don't make any money. Also, I'm not real aure about any drinking stuff and I'm pretty sure google thinks I'm an alcoholic now. Yay me lol
> 
> Also, in case you missed the tag, Thor is off world for this bit. We meet him later though :3

Clean up from the Battle of New York, or 'The Incident', depending on who you asked, was slow and tedious work. When another day came to a close and Steve made the executive decision to take the team drinking, no one complained. Except for Tony, but that was to be expected with him. He had "taste", so he claimed, and the bar Steve lead them to? According to Tony it was a shit-hole. Steve said it was a nice establishment from back when he was a kid. Everyone else just thought it was an old bar, rundown a bit and empty for a Tuesday if anything.

"I swear, there's a joke that starts like this," Tony grouched as he pushed open the door. It didn't creak at all despite it's obvious age and weight, and a quick glance around showed the place to be clean and well maintained. A good start, but still. "A team of super heroes walks into a bar. One that better have good drinks, Capsicle, or I'm walking out," he called over his shoulder. He didn't go to the bar, but to a pool table in the back. Clint followed close behind, trailing off to a few dart boards on the very back wall.

Bruce and Natasha were already sitting at the bar, Steve standing behind them as they studied the chalkboard menu. "It's a decent selection. Good drinks if done right," Natasha commented without taking her eyes off the board. "A few of these I've only seen overseas."

"I wouldn't try anything too exotic here." Bruce still looked skeptical of the place, eyeing the mix matched tables like they would move.

"I'd take 'fence to that if I weren't a confident man." A new voice cut in from behind them, making the men of the trio jump slightly and Natasha turn around quickly. A tall man stood with an empty tray under one arm and a slight grin on his lips. He wore a plain white dress shirt under a black vest and a pair of dark jeans. No visible weapons on his person, but Natasha still tensed and turned her body to face the man better. All he did was smile more. "First round on me tonight, just so I can prove ya wrong," he said, walking around to stand behind the bar. Grin still firmly in place, the bartender pulled a rag from seemingly nowhere and wiped his hands down. By this point Tony and Clint had come over, and the man surveyed his costumers with bright blue eyes. "Any requests or would ya rather I guess?"

Ever eager to prove people wrong, Tony claimed a bar stool right in front of the man and leaned back with a smirk on his lips. "Do your worst," he challenged. Behind him, Steve sighed, Clint grinned, and Natasha silently vowed to watch the bartender closely.

The grin morphed into something sharper, almost pleased, and the man laughed deeply. "Oh I like you Mr. Stark. Brave man." He pulled two tumblers out with one hand and snagged a bottle from the shelves behind him. "Irish whiskey. An' real Irish, made by Irish in Ireland. Know the family that runs it. This is Connemara whiskey," he explained as he showed the bottle to them. The green glass was tinted orange where the liquor was, the seal a dark purple and the label missing, a message and date written in what looked like permanent marker taking the place. He broke the seal and poured a generous amount into the two tumblers before setting the bottle on the bar top. "Aged 22 years, smoothest whiskey ya could ever find and a gift that I am more than willing to share."

Keeping his eyes on the bartender --who'd actually turned his back on the group, pulling more bottles from the shelves-- Tony lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. He paused, swirled the liquid, and took a larger sip. "Alright. So your worst is pretty good. How'd you guess me?"

"It's in yer eyes," came the quick reply, with something Natasha couldn't quite place in his tone. Before she could think further on it he'd turned back and placed the bottles and glasses he'd gather in a neat array on the bar top. Like the whiskey, none had labels besides three bottles of a dark beer. Those he slid towards Clint, who raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Guinness. Good beer that's good for ya. If yer not tryin' to do anything too stupid after these I might give you more."

Appeased with the answer and beer, Clint snagged his three bottles and went off to play with the dart boards, leaving Steve and Natasha the ones silently questioning the man.

Seemingly knowing what they were doing without looking at them, the bartender started mixing a drink with vodka, rum, a few different syrups and juice, and surprisingly Tabasco sauce. He shook it easily in one hand and glanced at the heroes sitting at the bar. "He knows what a good drink is, but he wouldn't appreciate it any more than a good beer," he said simply and poured the mixture into a tumbler with ice. Natasha wasn't sure when he'd put the ice in. "Not like you would Dr. Banner. Polynesian Pepper Pot. A blend of spicy an' sweet. Got the recipe a ways back when travelin'. If yer wantin' somethin' softer tonight I can make a mean chai, but it'll take me a tick to make it."

Bruce took the tumbler and carefully took a drink, humming quietly in surprise before finally letting the tension from the day fall back a bit. "Not right now, but thank you. This is good. I'm sorry for my earlier com--"

The man waved him off with a good hearted laugh. "Don't worry about it. Like I said, I'm a confident man Dr. Banner. Just say so if ya want that chai."

"Thank you," Bruce said again before he was dragged away by Tony to go play pool.

The bartender was already moving when Steve finally sat in the stool next to Natasha. He had a strange look on his face, she noted, like he was thinking hard but trying --and failing-- not to show it. "Has your family always ran this bar?" Steve asked.

A tall bottle of clear liquid was placed in front of Natasha with a shot glass, and the man answered without looking at Steve again. "You could say that," he said, flashing a grin at the blonde before facing Natasha and tapping the top of the bottle. "Russian vodka. A... Friend of mine, she distills it herself. About 88 percent alcohol, proof of around 175. Surprisingly smooth if ya drink it neat, but still a kick to the lungs. Don't set it on fire, please, an' if ya drink the whole bottle I lose a bet so leave at least two shots."

Natasha glanced at a spot just down the bar top where the clear coat is warped and blistered over the black wood. "No fire," she promised, and ignored the shot glass in favor of just swigging straight from the bottle. It felt like fire settling in her chest, knocking the breath from her lungs as she put the bottle back down. "Compliments to your friend."

Another smile curved the bartender's lips, an easy and impressed sounding laugh barking out into the quiet bar. "I'm sure the message will be well received when I pass it along Miss Widow." Hot anger flared deep in her core at being called a young woman --a _girl_ \-- but when she met his eyes the feeling vanished as quickly as it came. The blue there was ancient, old, and battle scarred, and she knew somehow she wasn't being mocked. The smile showed only respect, maybe even pride, and she took another swallow of the clear burning liquor. His attention turned to Steve and she watched the man as he slid the second tumbler of whiskey from before towards the blonde. The ice hadn't melted at all, and when she thought about it Natasha couldn't remember the bartender putting any in. She glanced between the glass, the man, and Steve, and between one look and the next the man had a metal bottle in his hand, slightly larger than a bottle of wine and covered in a twisting design. She blinked. The liquid is clear was water and caught the light like diamonds as a small amount was poured into the tumbler. "And for you, Captain Rogers, a little gift from a... Nordic, friend of mine."

Since no one else seemed to have any issues with their drinks, Steve picked his up and took a long sip. He swallowed, and Natasha watched as he blinked in obvious surprise before looking at the barman. "It burned," he said, amazement coloring his voice. "Alcohol hasn't felt that way since the forties."

Natasha sat up in her stool, narrowing her eyes at the grinning bartender who had already put the bottles away. Somehow put them all away, without seeming to move. "What's going on?" She demanded in a cold, hard tone, her skin tingling as her brain screamed _DANGER!!_ when the barman smiled.

He leaned against the bar top, exposed forearms showing lean muscles and pale scars. Natasha didn't remember seeing him roll his sleeves up, and when he caught her eye he grinned. "Ya fought aliens in the streets of New York. Took down a God while one stood with ya. Seen portals opened inta deep space and men with powers no mortal should have. Been more than mortal yerself, Captain," he said, glancing at Steve and letting his smile slide towards teasing as he stood straight. "The world is a very big place. The world ain't even the only place. Try to keep that in mind."

"You. You ran this place back before the war," Steve exclaimed. He looked over the bartender once more, who appeared merely amused at the stares. "But you look maybe thirty."

The bartender chuckled, blue eyes seeming almost too bright. "And you, my young Captain, look just past twenty. Age will become less important ta ya the older ya get. You'll learn. I did." He smiled, picked up a rag, and wiped down the bar top where the bottles had been. "Took me a while, but I know what its like to wake up and find everything different."

Steve took another drink and stared at the glass. "Somehow, I believe you," he admitted, glancing up to meet the bartender's eyes. "If I can ask, how old are you?"

The barman chuckled and tucked the rag into his back pocket as he answered, "Around thirty six."

"Decades?" Natasha found herself asking, curiosity having got the best of her.

A different smile spread across the man's face. "I have customers to attend to," he said easily, and rapped twice against the black oak counter.

Suddenly, people didn't appear so much as to come into awareness. It seemed that between one breath and the next the bar had a handful of people scattered about. The bartender was almost all the way to the other end of the bar when he looked over his shoulder, met Natasha's eyes, and grinned. "Pick a bigger unit of time," he called out, and was already busy with some business men when Natasha's brain finally caught up.

It took several seconds for either of the heros to say anything, but Steve broke the silence by declaring, "I'm just going to finish my drink."

Natasha only nodded, raising her bottle to her lips and letting the fire burn away her lingering curiosity. After all, the city wasn't going to repair itself.


End file.
